


On the Tip of Your Tongue

by bocje_ce_ustu



Series: Spizzichi e Bocconi (Tumblr Writing, Fills and Flashfics) [9]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Holidays, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bocje_ce_ustu/pseuds/bocje_ce_ustu
Summary: “Is that your new plan to keep me off the humans’ backs?” He feels ridiculous just by saying the words. That’s nowhere near where he wanted this conversation to go. “Poisoning me with Christmas cards?”Erik mastering the art of patience. Charles being awfully distracting.





	On the Tip of Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **[Kinktober](https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018) Day #12 (Licking)** because of course I had to write in a Christmas setting in the middle of October.  
>  Also on Tumblr [here](http://bocje-ce-ustu.tumblr.com/post/179126202287/kinktober-i-believe-you-mean-indecentber-okay-i).

Patience is such an underrated virtue.

Erik, always the overachiever, is determined to demonstrate that by waiting much longer than would be expected from any human being. He is the next step in evolution, after all.

At the eleventh, he begins to understand why patience is so underrated. It’s only when you give it up that people have an inkling it had ever been there in the first place, lovingly nurtured by endless minutes of your silent suffering.

At the twenty-third, he shuts the book he’s been pretending to read since number one with a loud snap and lowers his reading glasses.

Charles, until now engrossed in his occupation, drops the half-readied stamp. Erik watches it flit through the air and land on its adhesive side, far away from the corner it belongs to.

“Fuck.”

Charles rushes to pry it free before it sticks too well for the damage to be undone, which is, fortunately  _for him_ , a task simplified by the stamp being only partially wetted.

 _For him_ , Erik might as well say that again, because after a low cry of triumph, Charles picks up right where he left off.

The tip of his tongue darts out of his red lips, touches on the square of paper, and draaaaags, performing waves and curlicues, stretching, flattening and contracting until it has reached every single ripple of the edge with millimetric precision.

If you lost yourself in the relentless, cruel movements of that tongue, in its fickle showing and hiding itself between sealed lips, it would be so easy to picture it in completely different scenarios.

Charles’s cheeks darken, his fingers skidding on the postcard. He frowns at the attached stamp, wrinkled and slightly askew, now beyond saving; then he looks up, staring at Erik dead in the eye without a single word, sets aside the card and rips a new stamp off the sheet.

At the thirty-seventh, Erik asks, “Is that really necessary?”. His book lies forgotten on the coffee table, his glasses neatly folded on top of it. His eyes are now deliberately trained on Charles’s tongue.

Charles doesn’t meet his gaze. He doesn’t need to.

“Air is necessary, Erik. Holiday cards are a custom meant to act as a sign of kindness.”

They’re also a custom meant to get money out of more or less religious Gentiles, but Erik knows when he’s being baited into a discussion about society’s ills. He’s not falling for that. No, sir. Not even if… Well, there’s always time for that later.

“I mean, are you sure that’s not bad for your health? That glue could be toxic.”

Charles raises one brow. “A bunch of stamps a year can hardly kill me.” His attention is almost completely devoted to sticking yet another blasted stamp, which he does flawlessly, given the way his face lights up right after. Surely it has nothing to do with the sliver of tongue peeking out of his lips when he concentrates, or how absurdly endearing Erik finds it.

“You never know.”

“Look, if you’re so worried about it you can help me.”

“Is that your new plan to keep me off the humans’ backs?” He feels ridiculous just by saying the words. That’s nowhere near where he wanted this conversation to go. “Poisoning me with Christmas cards?” Still, he thinks while standing and circling around Charles’s desk, it takes him right where he wants to be.

“Do you think it might work?” Charles asks as Erik pushes the chair back from the desk.

“Perhaps.”

Erik sits across Charles’s legs, ignoring the hand offering him a new stamp in order to focus on the task ahead. The base of the neck seems like a good place to start. The thick wool jumper leaves a tiny bit of shoulder uncovered, and that’s where Erik’s tongue presses first, licking a strip upwards and then descending slowly, down, down, until it meets the hard shape of a collarbone.

He can feel Charles’s laugh vibrate under his tongue. “You know, that’s not exactly the place…” Delighted, and just a bit breathless. He’s still holding the stamp in his hand, which definitely has to change.

“My bad.” He moves up the smooth, pale neck, up the evening stubble on Charles’s jaw and cheek, until his lips touch on the earlobe and close around it. He gently sucks on it, feeling with some satisfaction the first rushes of unabridged pleasure run through to him. “How about here?”

“ _That’s more like it,_ ” Charles half-mumbles half-thinks, his voice low and rich and raspy.

Erik takes this as his cue to lick his way up the shell of Charles’s ear, this time with tiny, deliberate flicks of his tongue, giving Charles a taste of his own medicine. He’s rewarded with a full-body shiver when he adds a bit of teeth, too light to be more than a tease, too insistent to be less than a promise.

When they’re this close he can clearly feel the quickening in Charles’s blood.

A soft crumpling sound is almost drowned out by a moan as Charles fists the front of his shirt, pulling Erik into him for a kiss.

And there it is, the wicked, blessed tormentor of Erik’s hours, finally conceding itself to a worship long overdue. And yet. There’s something, something sour about that kiss that makes Erik pull away far earlier than he would have liked.

“You taste like glue.” Erik does not whine, but feels very like it.

“You need to kiss me more,” Charles replies, unfazed. His eyes are dark and his lips darker, and Erik would love to do nothing more than comply. Maybe without a desk in the way. Okay, a desk whose contents he shouldn’t ruin in the way.

“Please tell me you’re almost finished,” Erik breathes out. “I want to take you to bed and put that tongue to a far better use.”

“Oh, but I  _am_  finished” Charles says with his most innocent smile. “Have been for” he checks his watch for reference “twenty-two minutes now.”

“You what?”

Erik stares at the card-strewn desk in disbelief. There are about three dozens of cards, but a good third of them is  _blank_. Pristine, if it weren’t for the stamps carefully pasted on the top right corners.

“I was just waiting for you to give up and come over here. You lasted thirteen cards more than necessary.” Charles smirks. “It seems like the great Magneto can indeed master the art of patience, if he sets on it.”

Erik bites back the laugh that is threatening to rise to his lips, trying to muster up some sort of menace. “I’ll show you patience.”

He slams their mouths together, pouring all of his exasperation and pent-up arousal into the kiss… and then pulls away with a grimace.

“Blasted things.”  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on my [Tumblr](http://bocje-ce-ustu.tumblr.com)!


End file.
